


Indestructible

by Gia279



Series: Practice Ficlets [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale is a sweetheart tbh, Ficlet, Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Magic dust, an unfortunate badger, chupacabra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16968081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: Prompt: Warning label





	Indestructible

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this so that I don't post my chaptered fic too early. I've been dying to post it, but I swore I wouldn't until I was a certain number of chapters ahead. Trust me, it's better this way. x.x Hope you enjoy, not beta'd, just kinda flung up here in the hopes that someone likes it.

   
“Did you read the label?”

Stiles lifted his gaze to Scott, glowering. “No, I didn’t _read the label!_ I thought it was mountain ash, I saw that thing coming at us, I threw it.” He made an expansive gesture.

Scott shook his head. “It definitely wasn’t mountain ash.”

“Yeah, no shit. The thing exploded.” He tipped his head back. “There are parts of it on the ceiling.” 

“Right. Uh.” Scott looked around. “The bottle shattered. Do you see the label anywhere? Maybe it survived.”

“The label disintegrated, Scott! It’s gone!” Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “So is everything that comes near me going to explode now?”

Scott shrugged. “Dunno.” He picked up a pen and waggled it.

Stiles nodded and held his arms out at his sides. 

Scott hurled the pen with extreme force toward Stiles’s face. 

He winced, one eye closing automatically.

The pen exploded two feet away, the shards blowing back toward Scott. 

He took a halting step forward automatically. 

Stiles held his hands up. “Don’t! Scott, we can’t have you exploding!” He yanked his hands through his hair. “Oh my god, I can’t go around like this. What if I kill someone?”

“You aren’t gonna-”

“There is blood and ink on _ceiling,_ Scott.”

“I…alright. Maybe you should go into a sort of….um, quarantine until Deaton gets back? That way we can find out what that jar had in it and how long it lasts.”

“Quarantine _where,_ dude? My dad could get vaporized tossing some laundry at me!”

“Well, he can stay with us. We’ll explain what happened and everything will be fine. You can wait in the backyard until he’s out, just in case.” 

Stiles rubbed his eyes. “I can’t drive—what if a car explodes or something?”

Scott gaped slightly. “Well, I’ll just drive you. I’ll get in the car so I’m not walking toward you. You can’t stand there until Deaton gets back,” he went on. “You’re going to have to try something.” 

“I _could_ just stay here. We could close down the office, I could clean it up, and everyone will be safe!”

Scott scoffed. “There are animals here that need care. I’ll meet you in the car.” 

They made the drive without incident, though Stiles was tense and jumpy the whole time. When they got to his dad’s house, he thought maybe it’d worn off.

Scott squashed that dream by hurling a potted plant at him.

Shards of terracotta were still raining down when John came running outside to see what the noise was. 

“Wait, wait, stay there!” Stiles waved his hands until John halted on the porch. 

Scott shot Stiles an impatient look and jogged up to John, already explaining. 

Stiles started picking up pieces of the pot. 

“Oh, you’re _kidding_ me,” John said.

“Yeah, and we’re not entirely sure what the criteria is of the, um, of what, exactly, explodes when it goes at him.” 

“Well, I won’t be _throwing_ anything at him.”

Scott winced. “Well, sir, the thing is, it, um, also does that to living things, too. That go toward him.” 

John swore. “Alright.” He glanced at Stiles. “What, exactly, exploded? Did you kill a goose?”

Scott shook his head. “No, it was a chupacabra, we think. It was hard to tell. We think it hitched a ride with the Calaveras the last time they tried to swing by.” 

John rubbed his eyes.

“Good news, though, Mom says you can stay with us until we figure out how to make Stiles’s, um, problem go away.” 

John sighed. “Yeah, alright. Sweep this up, Stiles, and try not to explode anything else.” He shook his head and went inside. 

Stiles sighed.

Deaton was out of town for a week, off gallivanting with other magic users who “aren’t really involved” in magical affairs (read: useless to people seeking tangible help). In his defense, he’d made sure they wouldn’t need help before he’d left and the worst part was that lately, they didn’t need his help that much.

Stiles hated that. He wished he’d have read the damn label.

He ended up stuck in the house all weekend. 

Erica called him that first night, mocking him and asking if he’d tested it recently. She then proceeded to come over and lob a balloon filled with shaving cream directly at his face. It exploded and left a mess he was stuck cleaning up.

“You’re a dick!” he’d shouted as she fled from the house. 

At least that clean-up was fun. There’d been an incident with a badger on Friday night in the backyard that he was currently suppressing. 

“This sucks. Shouldn’t it have worn off by now, Scott?” he whined. His phone was on the counter while he cooked dinner. 

Scott sighed. “I don’t know if it will wear off. I think Deaton might have to make something to make the effects go away.”

“No,” he whined. “Why?”

“Because the balloon exploded, and so did the badger-”

“I _told you_ not to bring that up!” Stiles finished slicing his bell peppers and scooped them onto the sheet pan he’d been piling with his dinner. “You’re _sure_ you don’t know what it is?”

“I’m sure. He’s got like three hundred of those jars and I have to go through each one to check the labels against the list he left!” 

Stiles sighed and put the pan in the oven. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I know you’re helping me out and spending your free time going through Deaton’s dusty jar collection.”

“I know it’s frustrating, so just, you know, spend time becoming one with your neglected video games and DVR.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll keep myself busy-”

Something thumped upstairs.

Stiles looked up, heart hammering. “Uh, Scotty, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

“What? Why?” Scott paused. “Is someone _there_? Stiles, is there someone in your-”

“Dude, I’m fine. If anything or anyone comes at me, they’ll explode. I’ll call you back.” He hung up and headed for the stairs. He glanced back, considering whether he should grab a knife or not. He caught sight of the window above the sink, still smeared with badger blood. He guessed he didn’t need a knife. “Okay, whoever is up there, just—don’t run at me, okay?” He paused in the middle of the stairs, listening, but he didn’t hear anything. He started up again. “I would advise that you just leave, because you broke into the sheriff’s house, which was just dumb anyway, but if you desperately need to rob me, do _not_ run at me. Or you will explode. Seriously.” He stopped outside his bedroom door and took a breath.

The door whipped open.

He yelped and leaped back. “Derek!” he seethed. “What the _hell_ are you doing?! You could have exploded! And-” He paused to look at Derek, frowning. “And where the hell have you been?”

He had mud up and down his jeans, a twig tangled in his hair, and broken up leaf remnants caught up in his stubble. “Oregon,” he said, like it should’ve been obvious.

“Uh…why?” Stiles threw his hands up. “You know I love our usual game of pushy-shovey, but I’d really prefer _not_ spending my Saturday scraping your guts off the ceiling.” 

Derek shook his head. “It was a protection potion, idiot.” He picked up a notebook from Stiles’s desk and hurled it. 

Stiles winced, then sighed as paper fluttered around everywhere. 

“It’s a really high powered protection potion. It’ll wear off by Tuesday.” 

“How do you _know_ that?” 

“I went to Oregon,” Derek said, like that explained anything at all. He sighed noisily. “Scott said he couldn’t contact Deaton by phone, so I went-to-Oregon-to-ask-him,” he said slowly and distinctly. 

Stiles stared at him. “You hunted Deaton down in Oregon on his weird witchy retreat to ask him why things were exploding around me.”

“Things that were threatening to _harm_ you were exploding.” 

“Oh.” He swung a hand up and then back down again. “Thanks?”

“I told the pack to keep their distance, since you’re so jumpy and they’re all idiots and I don’t need one of them exploding because they snuck up on you.”

And there went any chances of visitors. “Great,” Stiles said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “Thanks.” He didn’t want to accidentally kill anyone either, but forced exile was sort of depressing.

Derek nodded. “What are you cooking?”

Stiles squinted at him. “Chicken and vegetables.” He put his hands on his hips. “Did you come straight here when you got back? You-” He threw his hands up. “Go clean the leaves out of your beard and wash your hands. You’re staying for dinner.”

Derek smiled.

He ended up staying the weekend, and after he quietly cleaned up the bits of badger Stiles had missed, Stiles kissed him on the back porch. They made good use of his quarantine and the fact that everyone was afraid to show up unexpectedly, lest they get blown up. Stiles may have held off telling them the good news until Wednesday. He just wanted one more day with Derek before they let the pack and all their smug, teasing faces know what’d happened.

“Erica’s outside with balloons full of shaving cream,” Derek muttered, pulling Stiles’s arm over his head. “Who’d you tell?”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Stiles hissed. “She did the same thing Thursday night.” He pulled his blanket over them. “Maybe she’ll go away.” 

“She won’t.”

“Maybe.”

“Nope.” He twisted his head just enough to nip Stiles’s shoulder. “But I promise to help you clean up the mess.”

Stiles laughed and rolled on top of him.

**Author's Note:**

> ;-; I have a list of fics I want to write after the chaptered one I'm working on now and I have no idea which one to work on. rebekahdarian suggests one, but I don't trust her judgment.


End file.
